Page 13 of Dangerous Promises

I take his hand in mine, which feels warm and brings me some sense of comfort.

"I'm sorry, Dad," I say on an exhale. I know I fucked up when I did this to him. My plan was always risky. I only needed him out of the way. I didn't need him to die.

It was supposed to be Angie at the gates that night. She was supposed to fake a siege and keep Dad away for long enough that I could send the marriage document and find out if it really was Victor that was coming for me.

But I messed up. I thought it was all fake when it wasn't. It wasn't Angie at the gates, it was Victor, and I let him in just in time for him to take my father's life.

"I hope you never have to find out what I've done," I say. "You'd be so disappointed."

I can’t picture which part he'd be most disappointed by. It has all piled up. Death. Deception. Endlessly stupid ideas. Even just falling in love with one of his men. I laugh at the thought. Of everything, I imagine that's what would make Dad the angriest if he were alive to see it.

"If you knew what I'd done, oh you'd kill me," I say, a smile on my face.

Dad's hand tightens around mine.

My smile drops and I gasp when I feel it. The action of his hand squeezing me. My eyes snap up to his face, but he hasn't moved. He still looks small and restful. Vulnerable and downtrodden. Eyes closed, exactly as he was when I first walked in here.

I click my fingers in front of his eyes and squeeze his hand again. Did I imagine that? Did I want him to respond so badly that I hallucinated his hand tightening on mine?

That sounds like exactly the kind of thing I would do.

I shake my head at myself and place Dad's hand back on the bed, getting up to leave and feeling more unsettled than I did when I came in here.

I want Dad to be alive, to get the chance to fix this mistake so badly, that I've started imagining things. That's all it is, though. Imagination.

Dad is never coming back.

Chapter

Five

Alexei

Ipace the floor in my brother's old office, wearing out the carpet by the window. The view really is beautiful at night; the lake over the property, the twinkle of the stars. I've no question why Vic kept this room to himself.

It never held very good memories for me, anyway. It was the room where my father finally killed my mother. Then it was the room I would take my lashings whenever I did something he disapproved of. Which was often. Now it's the room where my brother died.

I place a hand over my chest and rub, doing my best to push the pain back down. It doesn't help, but the burn of the vodka I choose instead does, leaving a blaze down my heart.

The door creaks and my head turns expectantly. Isla slips into the room and closes the door behind her, drowning out the sounds of panic I can hear from the men while the door remains ajar.

"Any word on how many yet?" I say, trying not to look at her so she can't tell how much I actually care about this. I've spent months convincing her I don't care about anything other than avenging Victor. I don't tell her I needed her to take care of the men because I couldn't do it myself.

Her blonde hair tosses as she shakes her head.

"Fuck!"

With a sigh she sits down on the green couch, wiping her hands of blood as she starts to braid her hair. "It's at least five. Possibly more once they finish digging all the bodies out."

I chew on my lip to calm down. I'm far less level-headed than my brother. It is my instinct to kill and to burn. I never think very rationally. Let alone when I'm pissed off.

"And it was-"

"Chet," Isla confirms, tying the braid off at the ends and sitting forward. "Fucking with you. Trying to draw you out. Who knows? But yes, it's definitely him. Waging war on us."

I run my hand over my mouth as I take a deep breath. Before I decide to do something stupid. Or make everyone else follow me into something stupid.

"You're sure it's him?" I ask, turning expectant eyes on her.